Scattered Ashes: The Cold Remains
by Timesprite
Summary: Scott reflects on the past--and makes a decision about the future--of the


Disclaimer: I don't own Scott, Jean, or any other of the X-Folks mentioned in this fic. However, I do own this particular timeline (how cool is that?). Feedback is greatly appreciated at Timesprite@usa.net 

This is the fourth in my Scattered Ashes series. If you haven't read the three that come before, please do so before you read this. It'll make a bit more sense that way. 

-Timesprite 

The Cold Remains 

The snow is whirling outside, but here in the house it's warm and dry. Behind me, Jean is starting a fire in the fireplace. I thought coming back here to Alaska would give me peace of mind, a sense of security and warmth. Something I could never feel back in Salem Center. Not after so much death. The very walls there seemed saturated with blood and only served as a reminder of my failure. Failure to lead effectively. Failure to protect those I considered my closest friends and family.  
Funny, when I came back here, I resolved to put the past behind me. To forget about the X-Men and the dream. I was soul-weary and too battle-sickened to go on. But the last three days have forced me to re-examine my position. To reconsider the cold shoulder I had turned on the beliefs I'd held a sacred for so long. 

First was the call form Muir. Under normal circumstances, I would have welcomed a call from Kurt. He'd born up so well after his injury and the death of most of his team...much better than I had, in retrospect. But the tone of his voice told me immediately that this would not be a social call. 

Kitty was dead. 

Score one for fate, the cruel hand that had turned against our band of would-be heroes and dealt us a terrible blow. We'd lost another one. She'd killed herself, he told me, sparing me the details. That hurt me more than I could admit even to myself. She'd obviously needed us, needed more support than Pete could give her. She needed the ones who'd been her family when she'd needed one most. We'd failed her and lost another piece of ourselves as our numbers continued to dwindle. The X-Men were a handful of cinders scatted by the wind.  
I expressed my heartfelt sorrow and told him to give my condolences to Pete. I've never met the man personally, but I know intimately the pain he must be feeling. The only difference between he and I is that Jean came back to me. 

Kitty would not be coming back. 

Jean came in after I'd hung up. I told her the news and we sat hand in hand by the window, grateful for once for what life had dealt us. Despite it all, we still had each other.  
Rogue called the next day to let us know that Gambit had shown up at the mansion. She sounded genuinely happy. I think I've always been amazed at her inner strength, even if I've never said so aloud. She and Logan stayed behind in the haunted halls of Xavier's when the rest of us could not. It takes courage to spend every night in the place where your friends and team mates died.   
I didn't have the courage to do it. I ran away to my quiet corner of the world and tried to shut their screams out of my mind. I tried to forget their faces and names. Tried to forget who _I_ had been. I was bitter and believed my absolute devotion to Charles' dream had been a folly. 

It was, in part. 

Charles Xavier was only a man; a man with a dream of a better world, true, but still subject to the same faults as the rest of us. His fault was his need for us to be soldiers to the Dream, in sacrifice of our personal well-being. He did nothing to help us break free of our disabilities. After all those years at his side as heir to the Dream, after all the fights and training, I still need the ruby quartz glasses or visor to control my power. Rogue fought for Xavier with wild abandon, the real muscle of the team, but is still locked in her own constricted world, unable to touch or be touched. Ororo was a strong second in command, but is still bound by the tight reign on her emotions that keeps the weather she controls from responding to her simplest feeling. We gave our all for Charles and received little in return. The restrictions bound us to him, made the thought of perusing a more normal life ludicrist and futile. Sometimes I find myself hating Charles for that. Whether it was by design or limit of vision, he indentured us to his all-consuming vision of a better place.  
Jean puts a hand on my shoulder and I turn a to look into her green eyes. "Maybe we should go back." I find myself saying. "Back to Salem Center." I've no doubt she knows exactly what I've been pondering this last hour at the window. Even the cold remains of that place would be better than the sudden emptiness I feel here. Jean looks at me solemnly and nods in agreement. 

"Let's go home." 

~fin~ 


End file.
